


I'm Glad You're Evil Too

by orphan_account



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Inspired by"I'm Glad You're Evil Too" by Pinocchio-P.





	I'm Glad You're Evil Too

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ["I'm Glad You're Evil Too" by Pinocchio-P.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLevj9bdRRA)

It’s walking down the middle of the city at night that reminds me most of you.

Spring, that everlasting era from March to May, always seems to cast silver puddles on the sidewalk cracks. The rainy season tends to do that. Those turn into pools of moonlight when the sun sets, speckled with stars that ripple with my feet. Each time I step into one, the stars shimmer, saying hello to me. I’m tempted to say hello back every time, but I resist the pulling urge and just keep walking. I let you lead the way. That’s what you always did.

The streetlights flicker, too. And the way they cast a glare on those shining puddles, the individual rays of light you can pick out if you study them hard enough, that’s you telling me about your day.

Sometimes, when I’m walking home from a late night, you’ll tell me stories. About your friends, about your home, about your new life. The street lights will flicker, and if I focus hard enough, the stars will, too. Each one is distinct, and yet in the most precise manner.

You talk about me a lot. Not just me, but _us._ You remind me of all the times we had, about how we met, about what we should cherish.

You make me remember more than I want to, but that’s okay. As long as you’re here to remind me it’s okay.

At one point on my walk, you tell me of when we met. I was living in a dark alley downtown, behind a grimy Dumpster so no one would find or notice me. Sometimes, the people who lived around the alley would throw their garbage down, missing the Dumpster by a few feet, and I’d rummage through it with my callused hands to find my lunch. It wasn’t enjoyable, but it was living. And I hated every moment of it.

I let the rain beat me down. I let life kick me aside and beat me senseless. And it was all because of some series of accidents that I was reduced to sleeping on rat-ridden concrete. I refused to open my heart for help, insisting that it was my own fault I was where I was. I sewed myself shut.

I became evil, in my own mind. I was robbing from people, stealing their trash, using it for myself like a selfish bastard.

I’d avoided sunny places, too—until you showed up. You strolled into that alley by accident, and only when you peered through the darkness to realize it _was_ a dead end did you notice me. You were stunning. I tell you this as much as I can, I mutter it to the walls of my room before I sleep every night. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

The very edges of your lips twisted up in a half-smile, and a slight apology fell from your lips as you turned around and left.

I didn’t mind if I never saw you again. But the stars shone a bit brighter that night, and with some stroke of luck, I found a blanket.

The next day, your appearance wasn’t an accident. No, you came over with the intent of meeting me. Not even your flickering lights can remind me what it was you said, exactly, but it was enchanting. That’s what I know for sure. You also held a sandwich in your hands—a _real_ sandwich, with meat and mayonnaise and cheese and lettuce and tomato, still in the plastic. It was a gift, you said, an apology for intruding last night.

I was less than elegant as I devoured it. Every flavor that exploded along my tongue, so fresh and crisp, reminded me of your unrelenting kindness.

And I never expected your hands to be so warm as we touched the following day, when you gave me another sandwich. I tried to refuse—honestly, I did, even though you always laugh at that—but you insisted. I guess even someone as evil as me deserves a chance. For a whole week, you brought me sandwiches, made a few moments’ worth of small talk, and left. You always dressed so sharply, and your shoes always clacked on the cement as if they were new.

The eighth day, you didn’t show up. I’d became lazy in your presence, and my body craved the sandwiches that you always brought. Relentlessly, on the eighth day, I scolded myself for being so naïve, for thinking that someone else really cared. Especially someone as beautiful as you.

But on the ninth day, you returned, a sandwich in your hand and a tired smile in your eyes. You apologized again—always apologizing—and said something had come up. Then you invited me to walk.

I laugh to myself thinking about it. You were so kind to invite me, but then again, that’s always how you were. Enough love to share, never running out.

My own feet, now, clack against the pavement as I recall the days you would take me to walk. We’d go to the park nearby on weekends and drown ourselves in sunlight. I’d always avoided the sun, but you changed that for me. You made me see the joy in the simplest things—the stretching golden expanse that the sky became at sunset, the playful bouncing of a dog retrieving a frisbee or ball, ads plastered on neon billboards that seemed so ridiculous there was no way they were serious, and the subtle flickering of streetlights as I returned to my alley. Everything with you had purpose, intent. My happiness with you must’ve seemed comical, especially to the outside eye, but I didn’t mind. I never minded, because you didn’t.

We grew closer, you tell me every time. You always make sure to remind me that you cared for me from the beginning, but I hardly believe you. Even now, looking back on that first day where you lent me your button down for my first job interview, I can’t believe it.

The littlest things stand out to me, now. The time you combed and cut my hair, laughing as I shook out shampoo all over your bathroom walls. Sitting down for a proper meal of chicken in your dining room, with your creaky fold-out chairs, chatting about your day at work. Dumb jokes you told while we sat on your sofa. Crying over a soap opera, beers still in hand. Hugging as I left for my alley. Feeling your heart, very much alive, thumping against my own.

And when I moved in with you, splitting rent, _working a real job instead of working the streets,_ I started to realize that maybe you cared for me.

Sometimes, like that eighth day, you’d go away. I had no idea where you went, but you’d leave a neat folded note saying you’d come back soon, there was rice in the fridge, you missed me, a heart at the bottom.

It seems like years now, but it was only months before we became a real unit. Your friends knew me, your parents, everyone close to you all knew my name. And they’d smile at me, too. I didn’t understand that they loved me. Not in the same way you did, but they loved me nonetheless.

We were two separate beings, sharing one fleeting life.

And I never changed, in my eyes. I was still evil. But hell, I thought, _If I’m evil, I’m glad you’re evil too._

The modest happiness that filled us could make me cry, now. You’d do the tiniest things to make sure I was okay. Even if that meant tucking me in at night when I was half-drunk, even if that meant holding my hair and rubbing my back the next morning. You were my world, at that point.

Sometimes, at that point in the story, you’ll stop, and linger on the smaller moments. The first fireworks show you ever took me to. Endless dinners out where we’d laugh at the names of exorbitantly-priced dishes. Calm nights in with good books and a soundtrack of rain. Tipping your coffee table when my favorite team lost. Sharing tears over some silly song in the late hours of the night. We were just two lonely souls, trying to make each other laugh, simply living on this spinning earth.

And every day, I remind you, I’d smile, slip into sleep, and feel so glad that you were evil, too.

You bring out the good in me, I tell you. I’d never have thought I could meet someone who had that power. You’re like a first love, and yet, you’re so much more.

The streetlights stop flickering and resume a steady hum of a glow. The stars stop shimmering, the galaxy above becomes invisible, the puddles are no longer full of life under my feet. You end the story, and at the same time refuse to end it. The spring in my step fades.

I take a breath.

Our story is over, even if you won’t say it. It gives me an unending sense of morality, but I don’t particularly mind. If anything, I’m glad you never end it. You’re still out, in my mind. Out on one of your trips, with a note left behind saying that dinner’s in the fridge and you’ll be home tomorrow. A little heart still occupies the bottom, shaded in pen, with love, from you.

It’s okay, I have to remind myself, as the night starts to lose its life. You remind me that time is finite, but even if you can’t keep me company for all of mine, I kept you company for the end of yours. We’re still two lonely souls, wandering through existence, hoping to one day be reunited.

I finally go home. I can almost hear you here—almost—and smile as the light flickers with the switch. You’re still here. You know I’ve just come home, and look—dinner’s in the fridge. I’ll pop it in the microwave and enjoy it, and I’ll wait for you to come back from wherever it is you go. Or, one day, I’ll take my coat and a sandwich in hand, and I’ll go look for you. But for now, I’ll just wait.

And us two lonely, evil souls will meet again, and you’ll rest your head on my shoulder, and everything will be alright.

My existence, before I met you, was day by day. But now, I have something to look forward to. You showed me how to really and truly live.

When I slip into bed, I wish to live another day. I smile.

I’m glad I fell in love with you.


End file.
